The Month Sherlock Spontaneously Became a Woman
by lovestorywithatwist
Summary: Mycroft makes a bet, Sherlock turns into a girl, and John questions his sexuality. M/M, fem!sherlock


_**I don't own Sherlock, nor do I profit from this piece of writing. It is purely for my entertainment, and the entertainment of others.**_

**Author's Note:** Ok so I was taking a break from writing, and then this happened. I just got a sudden burst of inspiration (no idea where it came from, actually) and spent an hour and a bit writing this. I really enjoyed creating this sort of a world, so I hope some of you enjoy it! I also love reviews/helpful criticisms/ ect. if you have time to write one. :)

* * *

John supposed his emotions began asserting themselves the one month Sherlock got turned into a woman.

He still wasn't completely convinced it had all happened – he assumed it must have, because Greg still brought up, "That brunette who looked exactly like Sherlock! How could you forget?", and a box of pads was still sitting at the very back of their bathroom cupboard – but he guessed it helped him realize just exactly how he felt about the detective, and that was all that really mattered in the end.

Though, of course, the journey had been something else altogether.

It had been a relatively regular day up until the change. He'd gone out to get groceries, come back to Sherlock and his newest experiment (involving frog stomachs and goat eyes), and then grabbed a cuppa for both of them as Sherlock continued working and John started writing up their newest case on his blog.

A rather sudden, blinding flash of light, a weird, high-pitched shriek, and then a moment of complete silence later, John blinked his eyes rapidly to find the most unsettling sight in front of him. His brain immediately denied it – _how was this possible?_ – but there Sherlock was, or rather, used to be Sherlock, because now in his spot there was a _girl_.

John was stunned into silence. Impossible. This was impossible. Surely Sherlock had left some sort of hallucinogen in the milk, and John had put some in his tea by accident. Surely it was just the awkward position he was lying in, face turned slightly away, and big coat wrapped around him that made him look more feminine. Surely it was just the way the light hit him that made his hair look shoulder length and spread around his face in gentle curls…

Knees weak, John slowly dragged himself over to his friend. Same clothes, but suddenly they were too lanky in some parts, and too tight in others, and oh_ god_. No, this was all wrong, those were definitely _breasts_-

"John. John, open your eyes."

He thought the voice might be Sherlock, but it was too smooth and level, not the deep baritone he was used to.

"John," a note of urgency flooded the voice, and John somehow managed to pry his eyelids back, only to see the ceiling of their flat framing an odd face staring down at him.

It was Sherlock, definitely Sherlock – if Sherlock had a slightly more rounded jaw line, slightly less defined features, and a much, much longer, chocolate brown hair…

"Jesus Christ. What… What the bloody hell is going on?" John croaked.

He slowly sat up, all the while staring at the, yes, most _definitely female_ version of his best friend.

Sherlock cleared his – erm, her? No, best stick to his – throat, clearly flustered. John could tell he was trying his best to keep calm, but his eyes were wide with shock and horror, something John had never seen before. Actually, his eyes might have been the only complete remnant of his former male friend.

"John. I appear to be a woman," he whispered. His delicate hands (which were smaller than Sherlock's old ones, though just as thin) trembled.

John tried very hard not to be scrutinizing, but really, when your best friend suddenly turns into a woman, it's hard _not_ to stare. At least he had become a very beautiful woman. John certainly couldn't deny the sharp, thin figure was attractive. In fact, the sudden heat rising to his face was probably an indication of his sudden,_ completely wrong_ attraction to his normally male friend.

"This… Is not possible," John finally replied, his words lodging in his throat. Sherlock was positively shivering now, bordering on what John could only guess was a complete breakdown.

"_John_," Sherlock repeated, and his breaths began whisping from his body at a quicker rate. Thankfully he anticipated the sudden roll of his eyes as he fainted, falling forward into his surprisingly steady hands.

He sat there for a long time, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. He found the longer he thought about it, the more his head hurt, and the more desperately he wished this was just an unfortunate, extremely realistic, drug-induced hallucination. He hoped Mycroft would leap out of their fridge, holding a camera and yelling "Surprise!" as the real Sherlock emerged from some hidden spot, and they all would laugh at how ridiculous this was. Heck, John would even take Moriarty slithering out from under their couch to laugh at him over Sherlock actually slumped over in his arms as a _woman_.

It took the military-action-man part of John to move Sherlock into his - her still didn't sound right - bed. He took his pulse and assured himself that he wouldn't spontaneously die before retreating back to the living room to huddle into the corner of the couch, breathing deeply and rubbing a hand roughly over his face.

He supposed, since he wasn't currently hidden away in their fridge, it was time to contact Mycroft.

* * *

When Mycroft finally showed up to the flat and John shakily explained what happened, he looked surprisingly accepting of the situation, and almost… guilty?

"Uhm, yes. About this situation," he cleared his throat, then slowly dragged his gaze to meet John's. "I assure you everything is all right, and this is all just an unfortunate mishap that happens occasionally when-"

"Jesus Christ Mycroft, what are you saying?"

"I may have made an- an unethical bet whilst I was intoxicated, and accidentally-"

"Are you saying this is your fault!?" John yelled. "I don't-" he paused, taking a deep breath. "I don't know _how_ – I don't _want _to know how –_ just bloody well change him back right now!_"

Mycroft squirmed slightly in his seat, shifting his umbrella over to his other hand. "I can't change him back," he sighed, quickly holding up a hand as John nearly started yelling again, and added, "The effects will wear off, however. You two will just have to hold up until then."

John took several more deep breaths, jumping up from his seat to pace around the room. He couldn't believe this was happening. He really couldn't.

"How long?"

"The effects last approximately a month."

"_A whole bloody month!?_"

* * *

Sherlock took the news relatively well for someone who just went through an unwilling gender change (because her brother lost a bet with some sort of government official, no less). Once Mycroft had explained every detail, he looked slightly more relaxed, though that was only after he also punched Mycroft in the nose.

Everything became infinitely awkward once Mycroft left (with a piece of tissue pressed against his right nostril). Sherlock closed his eyes and brought his hands together up by his face, like he used to do before, but somehow managed to look completely different in this new body. John found himself staring at him intently, still trying to find a way to accept this.

When Sherlock finally opened his eyes, he let out a long, slow breath.

"I believe I am going to need a few different clothing items," he finally said, grimacing at his own words. John felt his cheeks flush again, and made a mental note to stop doing that, because this was still Sherlock, his best mate, and he _really_ shouldn't be looking at his chest. He just wasn't used to seeing _those_ on said best mate's front.

"Right. Ehm, do you need… Do you need me to go with you?" he offered politely. He kind of hoped Sherlock refused, but with the scared look twisting his features, he could guess his presence would be needed.

"You have more… More experience with these things than I do," Sherlock finally said stiffly.

"What? I don't go out and buy bras-," John started, spluttering, but Sherlock cut across him.

"No, but you grew up with a sister, and have had countless relationships with women. I've had…" he trailed off.

John felt a stab of pity for his friend, not only because of the recent events, but because of the new, lost expression spreading across his face. His Sherlock had never shown these emotions, because before he'd never had to. Now John supposed it only made sense that he was confused as hell. John certainly didn't envy what he must be going through. In all honestly, Sherlock was handling everything better than he thought.

"Right. Ok, let's go then," John offered a small smile and went to grab his coat.

* * *

Bra shopping would have been awkward enough with, say, a girlfriend, but bra shopping with Sherlock was something John had been absolutely certain he'd never do. However, now they were standing awkwardly in the middle of La Senza, both just as lost as the other. How did women do this? There were different numbers and letters scattered around the tags, apparently functioning as some sort of sizing system. It didn't seem rational to him.

They were all distracting, bright colours, too, with different labels such as "push-up", or "wire-rimmed", or "sexy in the bedroom". Sherlock looked as though he might be sick.

A lady working at the store wandered over to them eventually, easily picking up on how lost they both were.

"Hello there," she smiled cheerily, raising her eyebrows slightly. "You two seem a bit lost. First time, yeah?" she asked, grinning slightly.

"Th-that obvious?" John chuckled. Maybe they got more women coming in, still unsure about how to properly buy bras, than he had originally guessed. The thought made him feel a tiny bit better.

"Oh, there's nothing to be bashful about! Everyone has to buy something suggestive in a while, hmm?" she trailed off, grabbing Sherlock's hand and towing him to the left of the store. "Our whole section of lingerie is over here, so you two can look around for what you think you'll both like-"

John let out a choked sound and stopped abruptly, nearly tripping over his own feet in surprise. Sherlock followed suit and ripped his hand from the sales lady in horror.

"No, no, we aren't-" John started, unsure how word this, "We aren't looking for-" he blubbered on.

Sherlock's face had gone a rather deep shade of red – another thing that had never happened before he spontaneously became a woman – and he coughed awkwardly, looking even closer to vomiting than he had before.

"I just require a basic set of bra and underpants," he managed to get out, straightening out the flannel shirt beneath his long trench coat.

The lady's eyes widened and she blushed slightly as well, laughing. "Oh, shoot, I'm sorry. Most couples that come in here need a shove in the right direction, and you two seemed like you needed it. Well, let's go back over here, yes? Just something comfy then? What size are you?"

Sherlock shot a look over his shoulder at John (who was still red, though not quite so much as before) widening his eyes slightly in a way that demanded, '_what am I supposed to say!'_?

The lady seemed to notice their exchange, and sighed again, not unkindly. "Bra fitting as well? No problem, dearie, let's just get you a room and we'll find something for you."

* * *

Two hours and four pairs of bras and panties later, John and Sherlock left La Senza completely flustered and still red in the face. John kept glancing at Sherlock, trying to read his expression. It was in some ways much easier – he had opened up a fair amount today, though that was hardly a surprise, as large shocks tended to do that – but in other ways it was harder to tell what he was upset about. He still had Sherlock's eyes and cheekbones, and delicate cupid's bow tracing the upper line of his lip, but he wasn't completely the Sherlock he used to know.

"John, I would appreciate if you stopped staring. This is difficult enough for me to try to understand without you trying to understand at the same time."

"Sorry," John muttered, moving his gaze down to the tiled floor of the mall.

After a moment of silence walking, Sherlock added, "If you don't want to be around me, I understand. I can- can stay at Mycroft's or something until I've change back. If this is too much."

His words sounded oddly sincere, and maybe even a tad worried. John realized Sherlock really didn't want to be left alone. Judging by the tone of his voice, being left with his brother in this state was an even more terrifying thought. John honestly couldn't blame him for that.

"No, I think you're going to need some help through this one," John smirked slightly, and suddenly he burst out laughing at the absolute absurdity of their entire day. Sherlock, after a moment, joined in, and it took a solid ten minutes for them to stop giggling. Sherlock's giggle was much more high pitched now, which kept egging John to laugh harder, so it went on a few minutes until they finally stopped and settled for grinning at each other.

"At least it's only a month," John reasoned. "Could have been worse."

"Could not have happened at all," Sherlock countered, though his eyes were still relatively bright. "Well, I will just have to focus on my experiments. I won't even notice."

John grimaced inwardly about that, but was secretly happy that they weren't completely freaking out over this whole incident. Maybe they would get through it all right.

Though, god sure did throw them some challenges.

* * *

The first one rose up around midnight. John was woken up by his shoulder being gently shaken.

"John. John, wake up."

"Hmmpf? Sher-Sherlock, wha's wrong?" he mumbled, stretching slightly before allowing his eyes to open. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a girl staring at him instead of Sherlock, and then remembered this _was_ Sherlock, and let out a tiny sigh.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't say anything about his reaction. Instead he stuck out her bottom lip, in a childish, almost embarrassed way, and mumbled, "I don't understand how to, er, urinate."

John stared at him for a long time, then burst out laughing. Sherlock's pout grew into a scowl, and he straightened quickly while sticking his hands on his hips.

"It isn't funny John! How would you like to have completely different body parts?"

"I just figured you would know the basic anatomy of a woman-"

"Yes well I bloody well didn't study what they do in the_ bathroom_-!"

John held up a hand, still chuckling lightly in bemusement as he replied, "Right, right, I'm sorry Sherlock. Just, er, you have to sit down."

Sherlock's blush grew, and he said nothing more, simply nodded once as thanks and scurried out. John suppressed another laugh, wondering how the absolute hell this mess had happened.

* * *

For the next week things went relatively well. Sherlock was still getting used to his different body, but he managed to continue with his experiments, and somehow kept himself busy in the flat.

Lestrade kept texting them both to ask where Sherlock was – there had been a few cases he needed help with, and John had only just stopped Sherlock from running out – so eventually they had to tell him Sherlock had a nasty flu and John wasn't letting him leave the flat.

Nothing truly eventful happened, though, not until Sherlock became bored during the second week and demanded they do something.

"I don't care what it is anymore, John, I need to get out!" he fumed, stomping sourly back and forth in the living room.

"Calm down, Sherlock. What are we going to do? Go out for dinner? You still don't eat."

"I don't care! Fine. Dinner. Sure. _Anywhere,_" Sherlock sighed, flinging himself face-first onto the couch. He let out a sudden 'eep!' of pain and leaped right back up, grabbing his chest.

John stared at Sherlock, open mouthed, as he clung on to his boobs with an expression torn between surprise and outrage.

"_Ow_!" he hissed. "Why the _hell _would anyone give women these horrible lobes of _pain_? Who's bright idea was it!" he bounced on the spot a few times, muttering curses, before taking a few deep breaths and glaring back over at John. His look conveyed something similar to '_laugh and I will replace the skull on the mantle with yours_'.

What he said, however, was a tight-lipped, "I need to get out. Now."

John suppressed a snigger that rose up involuntarily from his throat at the odd sight. Jesus Christ, he never thought he would be witnessing Sherlock bloody Holmes doing anything like _this_. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or jump off a building.

"You're being awfully moody. Are you feeling all right?" he finally deciding on.

"I'm fine!" Sherlock snapped, finally moving his hands to simply cross over his chest. "My stomach hurts is all. I think it's the amount you've been feeding me."

John shook his head slightly, going for his coat again. "Well, let's go get some food then. Or a coffee, if you think you're eating too much."

Sherlock sighed miserably, grumbling something similar to, "I just want my flat chest back."

John nearly sniggered again.

* * *

It was only a day later that Sherlock wobbled from his room into the living room, eyes wide and cheeks red.

"John. I think I have a horrible disease," he whimpered, eyes watering slightly.

John gaped at Sherlock, standing quickly. "God, what's wrong?" he asked. Sherlock never cried, ever. Not once. John had never seen a tear roll down his cheek, and yet now, several were threatening to roll. It was rather alarming, actually.

"I- I can't think straight, my stomach still hurts, and now I'm _bleeding_- God, I'm bleeding from places I don't think I'm supposed to be bleeding from."

John gaped at Sherlock a minute longer, his brain trying to understand what he just said. Then it hit him and-

"Oh. _Oh_. Sherlock, it's… It's not…" he giggled, then pressed a hand over his mouth, thinking now definitely wasn't the best time. Sherlock's angry, '_how dare you laugh at me while I'm like this_' look agreed.

John continued carefully,"It's a normal body function of women. They go through the menstrual cycle every month. Surely you knew this?"

Sherlock stared at him, quickly wiping away at his eyes. "Of course I know that! This is much worse than a _menstrual cycle _could be! How could a woman handle this every month? I feel like my insides are being grabbed and twisted into knots with _knives_!"

John reached out to gingerly pat Sherlock's shoulder. He leaned lightly into his touch, almost sniffling now, in addition to the tears. Good lord.

"Well, the most logical explanation for your symptoms is a menstrual cycle. So I suppose we should go get you some feminine products."

Sherlock let out a sob and suddenly fell forward to bury his head into John's shoulder. "John, I feel awful! I don't _want_ to be a woman! And I don't want to be bleeding out of an organ I only obtained a few weeks ago! And look at me, I'm _crying_ for god's sake, I don't get upset this easily! I'm a disgusting mess!"

John pat Sherlock's back uneasily, his breath hitching slightly. They'd never hugged, either. It was an odd feeling, especially with long hair tickling his cheek.

"Easy there, Sherlock, let's get you some chocolate, ok? Everything will feel better." John cleared his throat softly, his thoughts straying to how fucking weird It was that Sherlock's breasts were pressed up against him – though that thought really wasn't helping the situation right now.

Sherlock stepped back and glared at him. "Chocolate can't make anything better."

* * *

Apparently chocolate worked pretty well, though, because once they got back, and Sherlock had figured how to stick a pad on his underpants (he had turned a sickly green color at the thought of tampons, which John really couldn't blame her for) he sat on the couch and watched a movie while chewing on a snickers bar without complaint.

"No, you imbecile, he's clearly working with the maid! Look at his tie!" he shouted at the TV. John let out a sigh, knowing he probably shouldn't have stuck on a murder mystery, but unable to help the small smile dancing around his lips.

A part of him liked this side of Sherlock. He'd seen more into the secretive parts Sherlock had been so determined to hide. And, despite his constant refusals to believe it, John found he was inexplicably attracted to Sherlock. He kept telling himself it was because suddenly he was living with a girl in the flat, and it would pass as soon as he turned back. A different part of him didn't believe that.

* * *

On week three, Sherlock was going absolutely mad. They'd gotten through the basic feminine problems, but now there was the one of his boredom – he was becoming an absolute monster.

The amount of experiments around the house increased tenfold, and suddenly it was impossible to walk through the flat without tripping on something. Plus, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson kept threatening to walk in on them as well. John kept telling them both that Sherlock was still contagious and being around the flat would surely give them the same flu, but they were becoming suspicious.

"I need a case, John! Anything!" Sherlock shouted from the kitchen. John glanced up from his newspaper, letting out a sigh.

"What do you propose I do? Tell the whole police force you spontaneously turned into a woman?" he called back, going to read the newspaper again.

"We can make up a story! I can have a secret twin sister or something! I don't care how, John, but I _need_ out of this flat before I blow it up!"

John folded his paper, sighing again. This would probably come to bite him in the ass, but he feared if he didn't get Sherlock out, the flat really wouldn't last much longer.

So they told Lestrade Sherlock had a twin sister and that she wanted to come check out a crime scene.

* * *

When John called, Lestrade had thought it was a poorly thought-out joke. When they showed up on the crime scene, however, he decided it was a horrible, universal joke.

"And… Your name is…?"he trailed off, clearly trying not to stare too hard at Sherlock. He scowled back at Lestrade, barely managing not to snap something rude, as he was trying not to be too much like Sherlock. Still, the set of his eyebrows against his steely eyes was close enough to freak anyone out.

"Lena. Lena Holmes."

"Right. Er, nice to meet you, Lena. Sherlock's never mentioned you before."

Sherlock was clearly suppressing the urge to smack Lestrade for being so stupid. He managed a smile, saying sweetly, "Oh, really? He's never mentioned you, either."

John suppressed the urge to laugh yet again. At least Sherlock could dig into another crime, if only for a little bit. The looks on Sally and Anderson's faces were worth everything in his opinion, anyways. They both looked downright horrified at the thought of a second Sherlock Holmes running about.

"Oh, she's moving back to the states after this week, no worries," he had assured them, but it didn't stop the looks they kept shooting Sherlock. John had to cover up his giggles with coughs.

* * *

Finally, four months from the first day Sherlock changed, they were informed by Mycroft that he should be back to normal within a few hours.

"Oh god, I can't wait to be myself again," Sherlock groaned, curled up on the couch again. John had almost gotten used to seeing Sherlock's feminine self sprawled across their room and setting up new experiments around the kitchen.

Despite trying his best to ignore the feelings, however, John still couldn't shake his attraction to this new Sherlock. He continued telling himself it was definitely the body change, but it wasn't really that that he enjoyed the most. He enjoyed having Sherlock closer to him, and seeing the new expressions on his face. He enjoyed seeing him flustered and emotional, and more full of life than his own marble Sherlock had been. He liked how much easier it was to make him laugh, and how strangely ticklish his feet were. He liked that Sherlock seemed less uptight.

But, there was still a large part of him that wanted it all to be over. John was quite ready to have his own Sherlock back.

They counted the minutes down together, sitting quietly on the floor in the middle of their living room. They were prepared for the bright flash of light – John had time to throw his arm over his eyes and suck in a deep breath as a sharp gasp came from Sherlock, and following that, labored breathing.

"John. John, you can open your eyes."

John cautiously peeled his arm away and was greeted by the sight of his Sherlock – yes, definitely his Sherlock.

"Male, yes?" Sherlock asked, grabbing at his chest. John found himself sniggering as Sherlock froze in horror, looking back down to see the bra he had been wearing previously still stuck to his chest. At least it was a bit of a relief when they squished down, meaning no womanly parts were left. Sherlock squirmed back and forth slightly, then quickly leaped to his feet to run to the bedroom. John found himself breaking out into giggles again.

He'd barely calmed down once Sherlock came back, cheekbones slightly tinted pink, but looking quite calm aside from that.

"Ah. This is much better," he sighed. John felt a warmth stir in his chest at his old Sherlock's voice, and his heart realized quite suddenly that it definitely hadn't been Sherlock's attractive body change.

No, by the stirrings in his abdomen, John thought he may like this body more.

"Much better," John eventually agreed, standing so he was face to face with Sherlock. He stood so close he could practically taste the other man's breath on his tongue, and everything seemed to temporarily move slow. They stared at each other for a long time, John in sudden wonder, and Sherlock in curiosity, until John couldn't take it any longer and crushed his lips to Sherlock's.

Sherlock made a surprised sound in the back of his throat, unresponsive for a second, until suddenly he was pressing back just as firmly. They stumbled backwards by the force, and ended up banging into the coffee table and landing tangled on top of each other on the couch.

John pulled away with a gasp, staring down at Sherlock's flushed face. He cleared his throat slightly, glancing away in a sudden nervousness. Was that too quick?

Sherlock gently pulled his chin back, though, and held his gaze as he gently reached up to press another, much gentler kiss to John's lips. John let out a small sigh, battling confusion and complete adoration in his chest for the pale man beneath him. He could sort out his emotions later. Right now, he just really wanted to explore Sherlock's body.

"You waited until I was male again," Sherlock observed. John felt his cheeks go red, and he had the childish urge to duck his head to his chest. Instead he shrugged slightly, and watched as a genuine smile spread across Sherlock's lips.

"I missed you," John muttered, feeling his own smile catching quickly.

And then they were kissing again, and John found he didn't care if he was gay, or bi, or whatever label other people wanted to stick on him. He just knew he loved Sherlock, no matter what his body looked like. However, he did quite like the original model.

He supposed there was just something about your best mate turning into a woman.


End file.
